


Religion

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related: Sentinel Too, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:03:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	Religion

## Religion

by Rhipodon Society

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/soho/square/6381>

"Charm" is a sequel to this.

It's pre-slash, or extreme smarm, depending on your point of view. No warnings. Spoilers for S2.

I don't own the characters, but that's okay, because this is not for profit. Since I believe that you might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, I've included a whole pile of outside quotations, and I don't own those either. Anyone entertaining thoughts of a lawsuit, say it with me: "You can't get blood from a stone." 

* * *

  
You told me if I had my way, I'd be bored.  
Right then I knew I loved you best.

\--the Indigo Girls, Language or the Kiss

* * *

Blair was on the couch when Jim got home, reading some thick textbook and munching on a cold Pop-Tart. 

"You want an algae shake to wash that down?" Jim asked. He couldn't believe the things he caught Blair eating, considering that he was supposed to be some kind of health food freak. 

"I'm not eating a Pop-Tart," Blair said without looking up. "That would be childish." 

"And unhealthy." 

"Right." 

Jim grabbed a beer from the fridge. 

"So, are there any more where that didn't come from?" 

"If we had any, which we don't, I would probably keep them taped to the inside of the stock pot." 

"Your secret vice," Jim said as he took the pot down. "You happily tell me that you make money through illegal gambling. You talk about your experiences with hallucinogens, and you've admitted to me that you once ate human flesh, but *this* you're ashamed of." 

He studied the box. Frosted strawberry ... an excellent choice. He put two in the toaster and set the box in the cupboard over the wine rack. 

"What're you reading?" 

Blair looked up from the book and lay his glasses along the back of the couch. 

"You must be hard up for conversation. Are you really going to eat those? We don't know if you're allergic." 

"I'm not allergic to cardboard and plastic. I use them all the time. What are you reading?" 

Blair held it up for Jim to see. It was a psychology textbook, open to a section about free floating anxiety. Jim swallowed beer while he considered what to say. 

"Panic attacks bothering you?" 

"Not exactly. I'm just .. nervous about something." 

Jim took out a plate and set it beside the toaster. 

"You don't know what?" 

"No. Could be an adrenaline thing. You know, sometimes the emergency's over but you still feel it. Could be residual panic from the last time we got shot at or something. I just ...:" 

"You just what?" 

"I have this sense of dread. Foreboding. Like something's going to happen, and we're not going to like it." 

Jim settled himself on the couch with his snack. 

"It's nice," he commented, "coming home to you at the end of a stressful day. Very relaxing." 

"Hey, I told you, it's probably nothing. Ignore me." 

"God, Sandburg, I *try* ..." 

Blair shook his head and went back to his book. Jim figured the matter was closed. 

* * *

The dreams came in like needy children, tugging at my sleeve.

\---the Indigo Girls, Prince of Darkness

* * *

It stayed closed until just before sunrise, when the sound of the bathroom sink woke him and he went downstairs to find Blair splashing water on his face. 

"Bad dreams, Chief?" 

Blair turned to face him. His eyes were large and serious. 

"I don't remember ... but I think I need to." 

He was shivering a little. Jim placed his hands on Blair's arms to warm him. 

"You're taking this too seriously. You're just overtired. If--" 

"I'm not any more overtired than I usually am." 

"Uh huh. Maybe being tired all the time is starting to wear you down." He tugged at Blair, leading him out of the bathroom. 

"You're not at young as you used to be," he commented. Blair grinned. 

"The scary thing is, neither are you." 

Jim cuffed him lightly and pointed at Blair's room. 

"Go back to sleep. Tomorrow night we're going to discuss your work load. I don't need you having some nervous breakdown or whatever this is." 

"Sure," Blair said wearily. "Fine. Shrug this off. How are *your* dreams?" 

Jim narrowed his eyes. 

[Let's not go there.] 

"They're fine. What had that got to do with anything?" 

"Just can't believe you reject the idea of dreams as prophecy. That's all." 

Jim looked away. Blair placed his hands on Jim's shoulders and leaned in to gently kiss Jim's cheek. Jim was unsurprised by the gesture. They were taking care of each other in small ways now, aware that they would be a long time mending. 

"Goodnight," Blair said, and went to his room. 

He did sleep, eventually. Jim knew it for a fact, because he listened to Blair's breathing and heartbeat all night long. 

* * *

  
I come to you with strange fire; I make an offering of love.  
The incense of my soul is burned by the fire in my blood.

\--the Indigo Girls, Strange Fire.

* * *

Blair's last class ran until six that night, so Jim cooked supper and waited. Blair trudged in around seven, somehow managing to seem half-asleep and wired at the same time. He dropped his backpack at the door, surveyed the table, and sighed. Jim knew he liked everything on it. He'd planned it that way. 

"Jim, this is really nice," Blair said, taking a seat, "but if you think I'm going to write this feeling off to overwork, drop a few commitments, and forget about it, you're wrong." 

There had been a time when Blair's direct approach had thrown Jim, but it was long past. 

"Still," Jim said reasonably, "it wouldn't *hurt* to cut back, would it? That would give you more time to concentrate on the problem." 

Blair stopped in the middle of filling his plate and stared at Jim. 

"You've been riding a desk for two days. You *know* Simon arranges desk work for you when I'm not around, even if he won't admit it. I can't cut back on how often I come to the station, and I don't want to. I can't cut back on my classes, because that's my source of income ..." 

"That and your bookie." 

"I thought we'd agreed to disagree on that. Anyway ... I can't stop working on my diss, because I would like to get my doctorate before the sun burns out. It helps that I'm ABD, but I still have a lot of work I can't ignore." 

"You don't have to come in to the station. That part of your thesis is over now." 

"Being your partner is the more important thing I do. It's actually the last thing I would let slide. But all of this is just talking around the issue, because this feeling has nothing to do with my work load." 

"You don't know that. Now, eat." 

"I do kn-" 

"EAT." 

When Blair had taken in a reasonable amount of food, Jim opened the topic again. 

"We've had a difficult year. Both of us. It's understandable that we might be jumpy. I think you're just ... imagining things." 

"The only reason you think that is you prefer it to the alternative. I came prepared with a concession for you." 

"Okay, let's hear it." 

"I made some money on the Jags last weekend. I was going to spend it on the Volvo, but I'll use it to bribe someone to handle my classes. I'll put my thesis on hold, *again*, until Monday. I'll come in to the station with you, I'll pretend that's my only job, and unless we get involved in a very complicated case, I should be able to relax in the evenings." 

"Starting tonight?" 

"Yeah. If this feeling goes away, great. If not, I'm going to do something about it Friday night. Okay?" 

"What do you plan on doing?" 

"We can talk about that on Friday. Also, if you could be around Friday night, I'd appreciate it." 

"Sandburg..." 

"Do we have a deal? Because if we don't, I'll make other arrangements." 

He didn't look or sound angry. Just ... resolute. 

"We have a deal. You clean this up. I'll go out and get some movies." 

* * *

  
I ran in my sleep through shaking tremors.  
I had the splitting earth echoing in my ears.

\--the Indigo Girls, Welcome Me

* * *

That night, Blair fell asleep on the couch, his head resting against Jim's leg. He woke with a start about two hours later, and didn't sleep again until close to morning. 

Already testy from lack of sleep, Jim spent the night considering ways of making Sandburg sleep, then reluctantly discarding them. Giving the kid a concussion would probably be counterproductive anyway. 

He thought he'd be more rational by the light of day, but he was too exhausted. No matter what it took, he and Blair were going to sleep through the night. His determination grew stronger every minute, finally bringing him to the moment when he slipped a good strong dose of sleeping pills into Blair's tea, then settled in to watch the game. 

Blair began to drift shortly after that, and Jim shifted to hold Blair against his side while Blair slept. To his surprise, Blair pulled away, gazing at Jim with sleepy disappointment. He gestured at his mug, the powder now clearly visible at the bottom. 

"You shouldn't have done this," he said. There was something else in his expression now ... it took Jim a minute to recognize fear. 

"Chief," he said, drawing Blair close. "It's okay. I've got you. Get some rest." 

Blair made a soft crying sound and fell asleep in Jim's arms. 

He reached dream sleep quickly. Jim didn't think that was normal, but how would he know? He watched, fascinated by the movement of Blair's eyes behind closed lids. He smoothed back Blair's hair, and smiled at himself when he realized that he was touching Blair's forehead in an attempt to reach his dreams. His amusement turned to unease as it occurred to him that he'd sent Blair away and couldn't follow him. He pressed his lips to Blair's forehead. 

"It's okay, Chief," he said. "I'm right here." 

Blair's heart was racing. Jim tried to wake him, couldn't get him to open his eyes. 

"If I admit I was wrong, will you wake up?" 

He didn't, but he did quiet eventually. Not wanting to leave him alone, Jim carried him upstairs and curled around him in the big bed, they way he had in those first few weeks after everything had gone to hell. Neither of them had slept well then. 

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... " he chanted as Blair moved in and out of dreams, and for the third night in a row, he barely slept. 

* * *

  
I used to search for reservations and native lands before I realized,  
everywhere I stand there have been tribal feet running wild as fire.

\--the Indigo Girls, Jonas and Ezekial

* * *

If Jim had given any thought to what Blair had planned for Friday night, he would probably have guessed that Blair was bringing in a hypnotist to help him remember his dreams. But, he hadn't thought about it -- because after the look on Blair's face when they woke that morning, he was prepared to do whatever Blair wanted, no questions asked. 

After work, Blair sent him out for an hour. 

"I need to set things up," he'd said, and Jim had bitten back any disagreement. They had a deal. 

He was on his way home, waiting in line at a corner store, when he heard the music. Some tribal thing, pounding drums and voices howling off key. 

[Turn it down, Sandburg,] Jim thought, his head throbbing already. [If I can hear it from here, it's too damn loud.] 

He added Aspirin to his purchase. 

He caught the smell of incense as soon as he entered their building. He didn't recognize it, and that wasn't good. Blair had incense he used for meditation and hypnosis and just about everything else. Unfamiliar incense meant tonight was going to be something new. 

There were candles everywhere, and the fireplace was lit. In front of the fire was a small grass mat covered in face paint, small mirrors, crystals, and more candles. 

"Don't touch that, okay?" Blair said from the kitchen. Jim turned. Blair was wearing face paint and holding a bottle of grapefruit juice. 

"What the hell are you doing?" 

"Uh ... just a sec." Blair popped something into his mouth. It looked like some kind of plant, a round, blue-green thing. His face twisted, and Jim could smell alkali. It must have been incredibly bitter. Blair took a swig of grapefruit juice and managed to get it down. 

"God, those things taste terrible. I would've gone for the capsules, but you never know what's in them, and besides, the taste is part of the ritual. The *worst* part." 

"What did you just eat?" 

Blair gave him a particularly wicked smile. 

"You shouldn't ask me that, Jim." 

"Did you ingest a controlled substance?" 

"It's not actually all that well controlled." 

The music was going off in Jim's head like a series of explosions, and he went to the CD player to quiet it. Lying on top was a CD entitled, "Peyote Ritual Songs of the Native Americans." 

He stopped in his tracks and faced Blair. 

"Get your coat. I'm taking you to the hospital. What were you thinking?" 

"I was thinking I'd do my job," Blair told him. "We're not going anywhere. Three things." 

"Make it fast," Jim growled. 

"One: you agreed to this." 

"I didn't agree to this. If I had known what you were planning ..." 

"You didn't ask. But, fine -- my second point: if you take me to a hospital, they'll file a report, and I'll have my ride along pulled, and if that happens, the coach is gonna bench you. Also, they'll want to know why you didn't arrest me." 

"Unless I do arrest you." 

"I think you'd rather not." 

"Don't push me. What's your third point?" 

Blair moved to stand directly in front of Jim and stared into his eyes. 

"I bet Incacha did this all the time, and you wouldn't have dreamed of stopping him." 

"Damn it, Blair, you are not -- what's wrong?" 

"Nothing. Just a little queasy. It'll pass." 

"You've done this before, haven't you?" 

"Couple of times, yeah." 

"Ever learn anything?" 

Blair smiled. 

"I'm not sure. I wasn't a shaman then." 

"You're not one now." 

"Jim, why don't you show Incacha a little respect?" 

Jim grabbed his arms, hard enough to bruise. 

"I have plenty of respect for him. You--" 

"Then trust that he knew what he was doing. Telling me that I was a shaman was the last thing he ever did. It was *that* important to him. Don't you think it's time I took up that responsibility?" 

"He probably just meant that you were supposed to be a teacher or something." 

Blair just looked at him, face calm, the designs on his skin and the candlelight combining to make him seem genuinely arcane. 

"An interesting fact, in light of your dreams, and I'm certain you didn't know this before -- the Huichol of central Mexico believe that they evolved from wolves when they learned to offer the blood of the deer to their deities." 

"What's your point, Sandburg?" 

"Their Mara'akame -- shamans -- are supposed to have the ability to transform into wolves." 

Jim let him go. 

"That doesn't -- maybe you told me sometime, and I --" 

"I never told you. I only found out myself a few weeks ago. Plains Indians talk about shamans transforming into coyotes, but this wolf thing--" 

"Coincidence," Jim said stubbornly. 

"Just ride this out with me," Blair said softly, his tone something like the one he used to talk Jim out of zoning. "Twelve hours at the outside, and it'll all be over. I took the one called the peyote of the goddesses ... it's not as strong as the usual kind, so it could be as little as six hours. One night, Jim. I need to do this." 

Jim felt odd, the light changing around him. Could he have picked up the drug from Blair's skin? Suddenly he had knowledge, as if someone had whispered it in his ear. 

"You're keeping something from me." 

Blair didn't try to deny it, didn't look away. 

"Stay with me tonight," he answered. His voice was distant and strange. "You'll know my secrets by morning." 

Jim bowed his head. 

"All right." 

* * *

  
I'm speaking in tongues, handling you.  
I got religion now, look at it.  
Tell me it's holy, holy.  
I don't know what it is (come on over, now).  
Hey holy, console me ... some power controls me.

\--the Indigo Girls, Shed Your Skin 

* * *

They were quiet for a time after that. At one point, Blair commented that he was glad he hadn't eaten anything all day, and Jim glared at him. When Blair finally spoke again, the distance had returned to his voice. 

"This is where we really are." 

Jim looked around the loft and saw an illusion created by the shadows on the dark green walls, jungle leaves moving slightly in a breeze. It was humid in the loft tonight, and much too warm. Blair's damned candles, Jim supposed. And the fire. 

Blair was in front of the fireplace, placing corn cakes on the fire. 

"What are you doing?" Jim asked. Blair kept feeding the fire. 

"It's what Tai wants," Blair said. "I can hear him asking." 

Something moved beside Blair. Jim stepped closer to see it. A horned toad looked up at him, squat and ugly. Jim frowned. 

"How did that get in here?" 

Blair shrugged. 

"He lives here. The loft is like this all the time ... we just can't see it." 

Jim reached down to brush the toad away from Blair, and recoiled as it shot rust-brown liquid from its eyes. 

"Leave it alone," Blair told him. "Teh-Kah is a friend to shamans. He might want to tell me something, and god knows I could use the advice." 

"Sandburg, I do not enjoy your trips. You get *weird*. At least this time you don't have a gun." 

Blair just laughed, then turned to the toad and spoke in a language Jim had never heard before. He was about to ask what it was when the toad replied. 

"Oh, god ..." Jim sat down in the yellow chair. He had definitely taken in peyote through his skin; there was no other way of explaining it. 

"That's interesting," Blair said. 

"What did he say?" 

Blair tilted his head, confused. 

"You heard him." 

"I don't speak whatever language that was." 

Blair's eyes widened. 

"It was plain English." 

Jim shook his head. 

"Not to me." 

"Oh." Blair took that in, accepted it, and moved on. "He says that I'm going to become the maye, so I can hunt down my deer and talk with it." 

"What's a `maye'?" 

Blair gave Jim his very best smile. 

"Panther." 

He shut his eyes, still smiling. 

"Somebody put a flyer on the windshield of the truck," he said. "I can hear it." 

Jim cocked his head and listened. After a moment, he heard it, too. Blair was running his hands over the floor, tracing the imperfections. 

"I bet I'd hate this if I wasn't stoned," he observed. "Way too much input. I can smell the kitchen garbage. I think I can smell *everybody's* kitchen garbage. But it's okay." He opened his eyes and stared at Jim. "I can't believe the way everything looks, the way *you* look. God, I have your senses. I should be taking notes or something ... but the ritual says to keep still and just experience everything." 

"Then stay where you are," Jim advised. "You want to do this right." 

"Yeah. I do. Okay." 

He reached over and began to stroke Blair's hair. Blair leaned back against his hand. 

"That feels good." 

Jim smiled. No way Blair was going to be wandering around and getting into trouble now. This distraction would keep him still. 

"I know. I know how it feels to be the way you are right now. Just close your eyes and relax." 

Blair was silent for hours, so long that Jim dozed off, his head resting on the arm of the chair, one hand tangled in Blair's hair. He woke when Blair stood, suddenly, letting Jim's hand fall to the ground. 

"Chief ..." 

"Shh ... " 

Blair was staring at something just inside the balcony. Jim narrowed his eyes, then stood and grabbed Blair's arm, pulling him back. 

"Be careful. *Jesus*!" 

Barely visible in the dim light, a rattlesnake was watching them. 

"I think he just wants to talk," Blair said. Jim kept his grip on Blair's arm. 

"Are you *crazy*?" 

"No. I've calmed way down. I can think again. I seriously think he has something to tell me." 

The snake turned its head toward Jim and hissed something that sounded like words. 

"He says you're the panther, but we knew that." Blair spoke to the snake in that new language, and it gazed at him, weaving. It spoke briefly. Blair put his hand over Jim's where Jim still held his arm. 

"Let go. This is just a vision. It's okay." 

"If this is just a vision, you can experience it from here." 

Blair shook his head, faced him. 

"Jim ... I can tell you why you put that arrow through me." 

Jim tightened his hold. Blair winced. 

"C'mon, let up. That hurts. I'll feel it when it rains for *years*. Let go." 

"It was just a dream, Sandburg." 

"Okay, well, so's this. It doesn't hurt for us to have an open discussion about your dream inside of a vision, right? I mean, if none of it's real ..." 

Jim released his grip. Blair kept his hold on Jim's hand. 

"Fine," Jim said. "I already know why I put that arrow through you. I was crazy. She was in my territory and I could smell her on you and I didn't trust you." He paused, then admitted the hard part. The pettiness. "I was still mad about your goddamned dissertation." 

Blair nodded. 

"I thought so, too. All of it, even the part about the dissertation. But I was wrong." 

"Did you just say you were wrong?" 

Blair ignored him. 

"You're the maye. That snake over there, he's the tongue of the Fire God. You're an emissary of the Fire God. You guys work together, I guess." 

Jim almost smiled. 

"I swear, Sandburg, he and I have never met." 

Blair's eyes glowed. 

"Spirit world's a big place," he said. "Anyway, you're supposed to be the custodian of the shaman's sacred vows." 

"What does that mean?" 

Blair grinned. 

"It means it's your job to keep me in line." 

Jim did smile, then. 

"This has not been a very informative evening." 

Blair's grin vanished. 

"Jim ... I wasn't doing my job. I wasn't being a shaman. I failed you." 

Jim looked from Blair to the snake and back, irritated. 

"Did he tell you that? It's bullshit. You never failed me. You were always there for me. Granted, you should've told me about Alex, but you tried to once and I cut you off. Not your fault." 

"I'm not talking about that. The whole year before, almost from the moment the Chaopec left Cascade, I failed you. I was so caught up in pretending to be a cop that I forgot what my place with you really was. I stopped learning and I stopped teaching you. And when a challenge came, we were *not* ready." 

"Blair, don't--" 

"When a shaman fails, Mayetze can consume his spirit. That's why you shot me. Because you were the custodian of my vows, and I damned well had it coming. And I know, I *know* how bad you felt about it and I know that you don't want to hurt me. That's why you have to let me be a shaman. Otherwise, it'll happen again. And we may not walk away from it the next time." 

Jim had spent a good portion of his life dealing with necessary risks and acceptable losses. It wasn't until recently that he'd realized there was such a thing as an unacceptable loss. The lesson had surprised him. To be perfectly honest, it had almost ruined him. He'd learned it well. 

"Do what you have to do, Blair." 

Blair pressed Jim's hand and moved forward to meet the rattlesnake. 

He crouched down in front of the snake and spoke with it, the words hushed and rapid. Jim stayed back, nervous, as Blair swayed along with the snake. 

"Chief, are you sure ..." 

"Just a vision," Blair called back. "But I should tell you ... Snake says there's only one way he really communicates." 

Jim went to him at something like the speed of light, but it wasn't fast enough. By the time he was close enough to pull the snake off Blair, it had disappeared. 

Blair was on the floor, his back arched off the ground, his head thrown back in pain. One hand was pressed to his left leg, over the spot where the snake had bit him. 

"Oh, god, Sandburg, why did you ... " Jim pried Blair's hand off the leg and saw that the skin was unbroken. 

"Just a vision ... " Blair said through clenched teeth. "But it hurts ..." 

Jim picked him up and took him to the couch. He held Blair against his shoulder and rocked him. 

"It's that fucking drug you took, Blair. You said you'd taken it before." 

"I know. I have. It was never ... oh, god ..." 

"I'm taking you to the hospital." 

"No you're *not*. We've been over this. I just ... it's the poison." 

Jim touched the back of his hand to Blair's face. The kid was definitely running a fever. 

"That snake wasn't real. The peyote is the poison." 

"No, it isn't. It hurts, but I'll get over it. You said you would ride this out with me." 

"The next time I promise you anything, we're putting together a written contract in advance." 

Blair smiled weakly. 

"Calm down." 

Jim pressed his face into Blair's hair. 

"Idiot," he whispered. 

Blair laughed. 

"Jim ... the snake made a deal with me." 

Jim hugged him tight. 

"The history of people making deals with snakes is not a happy one." 

"I know. This isn't going to be any different." 

Blair was a gifted contrarian. Jim considered it the worst of Blair's gifts. 

"If you knew it was a bad idea, why did you do it?" 

Blair sat up a little and turned around to look Jim in the eye. 

"`Cause I love you, big guy. I've been worried about you all week. Snake said he knew why." 

"Did he?" 

"Yeah. I can't really talk about it, but ... it's taken care of." 

Jim looked into Blair's eyes. They were so close here, in the dark and quiet loft, sharing the same vision. It was impossible to believe there was anything they should keep from each other. 

Blair touched his face, seeming to understand. 

"Jim ... you'll know when it's time. Just believe me, everything's gonna be okay. Trust me. Please?" 

Yes, Jim had to follow Blair around to make sure he closed the fridge door and unplugged the toaster, and Blair's advice about various trivial matters was a mixed bag at best. But when it came to his life and soul, Blair didn't have to ask for Jim's trust. He had it, absolutely. 

"Okay." 

Blair nodded, satisfied, and settled himself against Jim's shoulder again. 

"Okay." He was silent for a moment. Then, 

"Uh oh." 

"Uh oh?" 

Jim never did get a proper answer to that enquiry, but all the answer he needed came to him through the closed bathroom door. 

"I thought," he called out, mildly amused, "you said you didn't eat anything today." 

"And I never will again," Blair told him. "Now shut the hell up. I'm busy." 

When the door finally opened, Jim put an arm around Blair and helped him back to the couch, where he'd spread out a blanket and pillows. 

"According to this," he said, holding up one of Blair's textbooks, "you should feel better when you wake up." 

"Yeah. Jim?" 

Jim settled into the yellow chair and looked at the remains of the fire, wondering if it was okay to put it out completely. 

"Go to sleep, Sandburg." 

"Thank you." 

Jim poked at the fire. 

"My understanding of the night's events is that I should be thanking you," he answered. "Even if you won't tell me what for." 

Blair smiled and shut his eyes. 

"Don't mention it." 

* * *

  
I wish I was a nomad, and Indian, or a saint.  
The edge of death would disappear, leave me nothing left to taint.

  --the Indigo Girls, World Falls 

* * *

Blair was better when he woke, though still sick. He was down for most of the weekend, but once Monday came around everything was back to normal. Blair was easy to get along with, if a little detached. Jim figured Blair was just busy. He split his days between the station and Rainier, spent most of his nights at the library. 

His only strange behaviour concerned a small red circle he'd drawn around one day on his desk calendar. Jim had noticed it when meeting Blair for lunch and found him unwilling to talk. Jim put it down to some date Blair didn't want to jinx because, as Blair had put it, he preferred that to the alternatives. 

A week before the circled day came around, Jim acquired a distraction which put it out of his mind entirely -- another ritualistic murder in Cascade. 

[Serial killer capital of the US.] Jim thought. [A lovely little town.] 

Blair had suggested to him once that Cascade might be built on some ancient font of evil, something that drew these types of modern monsters. It was only natural that a place like that would need a sentinel to watch over the tribe. At the time, Jim had thought that Blair was joking ... but there were days when he wondered. 

A body had been found in the park, cut and burned, tongue removed. Jim sat in Simon's office, staring at the photos. 

"Could be someone trying to imitate a serial killer," Jim said. He didn't even sound convincing to himself. Simon nodded. 

"Yeah. Could be." 

So he didn't believe it either. 

"Where's Sandburg?" Simon asked. "I know you don't like him looking at this kind of thing, but he has an eye for ... uh ... symbolism." 

"He had something he had to take care of today," Jim answered. Simon huffed in annoyance, and Jim met his eyes. 

"It's not as if we pay him, sir." 

"Don't get cute, Jim. I'm not in the mood. Get out there and find this guy." 

"Yes, sir." 

* * *

  
If we wait for the time `til all souls get it right,  
then at least I know there'll be no nuclear annihilation in my lifetime  
\-- I'm still not right.

\--the Indigo Girls, Galileo 

* * *

For the first year or so, Jim had tried to keep Blair away from the really ugly parts of his work. In the beginning, he'd even tried to keep Blair from seeing bodies at crime scenes. Eventually he'd realized that trouble would find Blair in spite of Jim's best efforts, and he'd eased up on the protectiveness. 

He'd been surprised by how well Blair had adapted. All of these things still bothered him -- and Jim thought that was probably a good thing -- but he could handle them. He could certainly handle the pictures from this crime, although Jim waited until after dinner to bring them out. 

"Not again," was all Blair had to say at first. It was obvious that he shared Jim and Simon's views on the matter. 

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "So ... what do you think?" 

Blair sighed and went over the photos in detail, making observations and a few suggestions. He did it all with the same removed manner Jim had noticed in him since the peyote incident. He hoped it wasn't some kind of long term side effect. 

It was getting late when Blair set his glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes. 

"Jim ... I can't work with you on this one." 

Jim raised his eyebrows in question. Blair pushed the pictures across the table at him. 

"Sorry." 

"Does something about this bother you? I mean, in particular?" 

Blair shook his head. 

"No. Not exactly. I can't talk about it." 

"Why can't you -- this isn't connected to your vision, is it?" 

A slight smile curved Blair's mouth. 

"Can't talk about it, Jim." 

He stood, pressed Jim's shoulder. 

"I'm going to bed." 

Jim stood outside Blair's door for a long time. He wanted to ask what Blair had seen ... and what it had to do with this case. If Blair knew something that could help them catch this guy, and he was keeping it to himself for some mystical reason ... 

["I love you, big guy. I've been worried about you all week."] 

And what the hell did Blair mean by that? 

He pushed the door open, just a little, and studied Blair's face. 

"Chief? You awake?" 

He knew better, but he was hoping that his soft voice would wake Blair up. 

No luck. Jim moved into the room and knelt beside Blair's bed. Carefully, very slowly, he brushed a lock of hair away from Blair's closed eyes. 

"I hope you know what you're doing, Shaman," he whispered. Blair remained still and silent. Jim got up and went to bed. 

* * *

  
You like the taste of danger;  
it shines like sugar on your lips.

\--the Indigo Girls, Mystery 

* * *

Jim left notes on his way to work in the morning; Blair left them by the television remote for whenever Jim finally made it home. Small kindnesses accompanied the notes as often as not, anything from cookies and bottle of beer to a good movie circled in the tv listings. 

Between Jim's case and whatever Blair was doing at the university, it went on that way for over a week, the two of them barely seeing each other. Jim didn't like it. As much as he enjoyed the occasional day apart from his partner, this situation 

["He's working on some big project at the University. I've barely seen him all week."] 

had an unpleasant resonance for him. 

Jim had just taken a beer out onto the balcony and fixed his eyes on the full moon when the phone rang. 

"Ellison." 

"Jim, we think we've found the warehouse." 

Jim wrote down the address. At the station that morning, he'd said that the killer would need a lot of space and privacy for the things he did, and suggested that he might be using a warehouse. He'd tried to make it sound like a combination of deduction and a good old-fashioned hunch. In truth, he smelled things on the victim's clothes. Nothing he could quite place, but the scents put him in mind of warehouses somehow. 

He'd done some hunting, but it seemed like an extensive undertaking, and he hadn't expected to hear anything so soon. 

Apparently someone had gotten lucky. Jim felt the hairs on his skin rise, energy running through him. No matter how ugly the circumstances, he always loved this. He couldn't help it. Hunting was something he had been born to do. 

"I'll be right there." 

* * *

I'm stronger than the monsters beneath your bed

\--the Indigo Girls, Mystery 

* * *

It started the moment he set foot in that building. The walls pulled back until they disappeared, jungle taking their place. Animals were moving all around him, not quite visible. 

[Oh, this is all I fucking need. Sandburg, you picked a fine time to bug out on me] 

He couldn't begin to guess at how to make this jungle scene go away. All he could do was go with it. 

Was it possible to have a flashback from peyote? Jim didn't know, but he was for damned certain going to find out the next time he saw his partner. 

[That crazy little bastard] 

This was no time to stand around thinking up names to call Blair. Plenty of time for that later. 

Jim moved through the building, trying to smell blood. It was the one thing he was sure would be the same between his flashback landscape and the real world, and the suspect would most likely have it on his clothes. 

He found it quickly, tracked it uphill through a narrow press of trees to a plateau. 

There was a body waiting for him, as he'd expected, but he hadn't expected the body in this world to be such a close match for the ones he'd been finding all month. That surprised him so badly that he didn't hear the man approaching until he was only a few feet away. 

Jim looked up from the body into eyes that were pure black. No distinct iris or pupil, just glistening black circles set in a stark white face. Jim blinked and saw that the face was a skull, drawn in white grease paint over blackened skin. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that the face he was staring into was his own. 

"Been waiting for you," the thing told him. It held out arms covered in scars, cross-hatches cut into its skin to mark off years of days. It saw Jim looking at the marks and smiled. 

"You like this? I saw it in a Batman comic." 

Jim took a step back. The figure moved toward him. 

"Don't go. You can't go. You should've been here a *long* time ago." 

It reached for him ... and something fell from the black sky, knocking it to the ground. Jim watched, unable to move, as a small gray wolf rolled off the monster and slowly got to its feet. The wolf shook its head and Jim saw dark curls fly. Seconds later, he was meeting the wide eyes of a badly shaken anthropologist who was clearly just as lost as Jim was. 

* * *

  
Don't you write it down ... remember this in your head.  
Don't take a picture ... remember this in your heart.  
Don't leave a message ... talk to me face to face (when everything comes apart).  
This is what I know of shame forever.

\--the Indigo Girls, Dead Man's Hill 

* * *

"Okay, let's go through this again. You came in here, you were checking on the victim, and the suspect raised his gun. At this point, you ... " Simon said, turning to Blair, "landed on the subject from ... up there?" 

He gestured at the rafters, at least thirty feet above them. 

"I guess I must have," Blair said slowly. Jim could understand his hesitance. Blair was terrified of heights, and the thought that he'd been moving around up there -- that he'd *jumped* from there -- couldn't have been pleasant for him. Truth be told, Jim didn't much care for it either. 

"What the hell do you ..." 

Jim held up a hand. 

"Sir, I think the three of us should talk in private." 

Simon winced. 

"Don't say that." 

That drew a smile from Blair. Simon sighed. 

"Might as well talk up there, "he said, pointing at a small group of rooms near the ceiling. It had to be reached by a ladder, which was currently rolled away from the trapdoor. "We'll see if we can piece this together." 

"I came here early this morning," Blair said as they moved the ladder. "I was searching the place, and I was up there when he ... " he nodded at the suspect, whose body was being swarmed by a forensics team, "showed up." 

They climbed to the trapdoor and entered the suite. It consisted of one room with very small windows, a bathroom, and a closet. 

"What is this place?" Jim asked. Blair shrugged. 

"I don't know. I had a lot of time to think about it, believe me, and I didn't come up with anything." 

"So, he moved the ladder and you were stuck." 

"Yeah. He didn't know I was here, and I wasn't exactly gonna ask him to let me out, you know?" 

There was no arguing with that logic, and Simon conceded it. 

"And you were here all day." 

"Yeah. I mean, he came and went, but I had no way of getting down that didn't involve at least a twenty foot drop." He laughed, nervously. "Turns out that wasn't a problem." 

"Are you sure you're all right, Sandburg?" 

"Yeah, I'm ..." 

Realizing the futility of what he'd just done, Simon turned to Jim. Jim smiled. 

"He's fine, sir. A little bruised, but ..." he shrugged. "I can't explain it." 

"A psychopath broke my fall," Blair said sharply, putting an end to that. 

"How did you get out on those beams, anyway?" 

Blair looked around the room, eyes stopping on a small window without a pane of glass. The beam he'd jumped from started directly below it. 

"Through there, I guess." 

"What do you mean, you guess?" 

"I don't remember." 

"You don't -- Sandburg, there's no way in hell you could fit through this window." 

"I must have," Blair insisted. Jim went to the window and touched the frame, pulled off a few strands of short gray hair. He showed them to Blair, who paled and sat down hard. Simon frowned. 

"That's it, kid. We're taking you to a hospital." 

"No, Simon, I'm fine. It's just ... it's been kind of a long day." 

"What were you doing here in the first place?" Simon snapped. "If you had a lead we didn't ..." 

Blair shook his head. 

"No, sir. I had a bad dream, and it--" 

"You expect me to believe --" 

"I don't care what you believe, " Blair told him. He sounded tired, and Jim wanted badly to take him home. Simon narrowed his eyes. 

"If you've been here since this morning, you must have --" He cut that off. "It's late. We can get a statement in the morning." 

"I did," Blair said. "If that's what you were going to ask, I *did* hear everything. I saw some of it, but after a certain point I couldn't watch anymore. And I didn't do anything." 

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Chief, there wasn't anything you could do." 

"I could've distracted him. Maybe if he'd come up here looking for me--" 

"You know better than that." Jim looked to Simon for help. 

"Blair," Simon said gently, "If you'd tried that, I guarantee *both* you and that victim would be dead right now. And," he added, "so would Jim." 

And then Jim knew. In all the activity, he hadn't taken any time to consider what Blair had been doing in the rafters, how he'd found this place, but it was 

["I had a bad dream."] 

perfectly obvious. His peyote visions and all those nightmares had led to this. This was the circled day on his calendar. Blair had seen that scarred hand reaching for Jim. He'd waited patiently, laid plans, allowed nothing to come between him and the moment when he would slap that hand away. 

["I love you, big guy."] 

He turned from Simon to find Blair watching him, saw the truth of it. 

[Oh, god, Chief ... how much did you know? And what have you done?] 

Blair's breathing was deep, his heartrate returning to normal as he looked at Jim. Jim gave him a gentle smile. 

Questions could wait `til morning. 

"You're right, Simon. It has been a long day." He put an arm around Blair's shoulders. "We'll see you tomorrow." 

Simon nodded his consent, and they left. 

Neither of them said anything the whole way home. 

* * *

  
These are my gods ... these are your scars.  
My arms are burning, but they're open wide.

\--the Indigo Girls, Keeper of my Heart 

* * *

Once the door to the loft was shut and locked, Jim turned to his partner. 

"Is there anything you wanna tell me, Sport?" 

Blair was surprised into a smile. 

"You choose the strangest moments for the parental approach." 

Jim went to Blair and hugged him. Blair relaxed, leaned back into Jim's arms so that when Jim tried to pull away, he found himself holding Blair upright. Blair looked into his eyes steadily, not smiling anymore. 

"I didn't know which warehouse it was until this morning. I only ever saw it from the inside. I've been hunting for it all month. I had a dream last night where I finally saw the outside of it." He tilted his head. "I just wanted you to know, it wasn't like I knew where to find this guy and didn't tell you." 

"You had some clues I could have used," Jim said, taking care to keep his voice even. Blair nodded. 

"I know, and I'm sorry about that, but I couldn't tell you." 

Jim frowned. 

"Why the hell not? You knew I'd listen. God help me, I almost always listen to you." 

"Because of the deal I made with Snake." Blair stood up straight, almost unbalancing Jim. Jim released him, and Blair went to sit on the couch. "That bad feeling I had ... I knew you were going to die. I didn't know it intellectually, where I could use the information. I *felt* it. I couldn't find out where or how until I talked to Snake. He told me that you had a point of decision coming up, and that the way it stood, you were going to be killed on the night of the equinox. He said I could stop it, but only if I waited until the decision to act. I couldn't tell you. I couldn't make you stay home all day. I could only change it by being there at the right moment. And I'd only find out where and when that would be by remembering my dreams ... which I started doing right after Snake and I had our talk." 

"What did Snake get out of this deal?" 

Blair looked at his hands, rubbed at the skin as if he saw something there. 

[Out, damned spot] 

"I think he wanted that killer to die." He sent his gaze past Jim, out the window. "Or maybe he wanted me to kill. I don't know." 

Jim sat beside him, close but not touching. 

"Blair ... how did you know you couldn't work on this case with me?" 

Blair shut his eyes. 

"Snake kept talking about the Thief of Words. When I saw that this guy cut out people's tongues ... " 

"Did you see him in your dreams? Did you know what he looked like?" 

Blair shook his head. 

"No. Actually, in my dreams, he always looked like ..." 

Jim sighed and put an arm around Blair's shoulders. 

"Like me." 

Blair leaned into him. 

"Yeah, but I knew it wasn't. For one thing, you don't have that guy's flair with makeup." 

Jim kissed the top of his head. 

"You might have been able to help the investigation," he said. 

"I know." 

"Keeping it to yourself didn't help the tribe." 

Blair rested his head against Jim's shoulder, and Jim knew it was only this physical contact that was keeping Blair calm. 

"I know. But I wasn't allowed to tell you. You would've died." Blair shrugged. "I helped the tribe by keeping the Sentinel alive. Maybe I was wrong, but ..." he placed a hand on Jim's chest, over his heart. "What would you have done in my place?" 

Jim looked at the small hand resting against him, tilted his head to feel the brush of curls against his cheek. He could sense the determination and devotion burning in the body he held, Blair's absolute unwillingness to let anything happen to his charge. 

He could understand that. 

"We're just making it up as we go along," Jim said softly, moving his head slightly to feel that silk sliding over his skin. 

"I can't tell you what happened today, Jim. I don't know how I got through that window. I mean, I guess I know *how*, but ... you know what I mean. And I don't know if I did the right thing. I don't know what the right thing is." 

"I don't know, either." 

Blair patted his chest. 

"I don't remember going through the window. I don't remember moving along that beam, and I don't remember deciding to jump. You would think I'd remember that, wouldn't you?" 

Jim held him closer. 

"Yeah." 

"I feel like a pawn. I don't think I had any choice about tonight at all. I guess that's pretty obvious from the fact that I took a thirty foot dive. You know me and heights." 

Jim nodded. 

"That occurred to me." 

Blair's hand was still resting over his heart. Blair used it to push himself upright. He studied Jim's features for what seemed a long time, then lay back against Jim again. 

"It doesn't matter. I probably would've done it anyway." 

Blair knew perfectly well that a thirty foot drop should've killed him. In spite of that, Jim knew he meant what he'd said. He ran a hand down Blair's back. 

"I love you no matter what," he said, and realized as he said it that he meant it. He should be angry about the things Blair hadn't told him, about the clues he'd withheld, but what *was* the kid supposed to do? Nobody knew better than Jim just how far in over their heads they really were. 

"Yeah. I'm the same way with you." 

"Chief, I've been thinking." 

"And?" 

"And the thing is, you take up all these rituals, you accept the mystical beliefs of these people, and you believe it yourself, because it works. How can either of us not believe, with what we've seen?" 

"No choice," Blair agreed. 

"No. So tell me this -- if we believe in the rituals of their religion ... what about their gods?" 

Blair sat up, turned to look at Jim. His eyes were red and tired. 

"I don't know." 

Jim could see panic building in Blair, and he stopped it with a kiss, lips moving softly against the stubble that lay on his cheek. 

"Leave it alone for tonight," he suggested. "Just ... give it a little thought, sometime." 

Blair nodded, then sleepily placed his arms around Jim's neck. 

"Upstairs," he instructed, and Jim took him to bed. He didn't stop to wonder what might be keeping watch over them, or what it wanted with them. He didn't think about why he would pace until morning if Blair was even one floor away, or why he was getting so accustomed to having Blair in his bed. 

Willfully, he slept.   
  
Feedback welcome. jamiemsimpson@hotmail.com 


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